


Have we got contact?

by Crollalanza



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Background Victuuri - Freeform, Gen, Grand Prix story, friendship beginnings, other skaters appear throughout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 13:01:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10438278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Seung-gil hadn't been at all sure he'd watch the competition. What he'd do instead was practise and look after his dog, catching up on the highlights later because they were the only thing that could possible be useful. But then Sara Crispino texts him, and instead of ignoring her, he finds himself drawn into the excitement of the Grand Prix Final.And it's not long before everyone else starts messaging.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be the story I submitted for the YOI Ensemble zine, but it spiralled. I kept going because Seung-gil fascinates me.

When he’d first seen that name in his contacts, Seung-gil had scowled, then scrolled over to delete. How it had got there in the first place he had no idea, but strongly suspecting the girl had somehow broken into the changing room and added it herself a month ago, he had no compunction in not only deleting but actively blocking her from his world.

Then she texted.

**Sara♥Crispino: Will you be at the Grand Prix?**

What. The. Fuck!

Even more intent on deleting after that, he was typing a curse ridden reply, when she sent another text.

**Sara♥Crispino: Micky’s here.**

_And that’s supposed to interest me how?_

**Sara♥Crispino: He says it’s to support me, but I think he wants to suss out the competition close up.**

What could be closer than zooming in on a TV?

**Sara♥Crispino: So are you?**

**Seung-gil: No.**

**Sara♥Crispino: Oh, okay, that’s a shame.**

_I don’t have the money to fly around the world like the rest of you._

**Sara♥Crispino: Emil said he might come along too.**

_Why would I care?. Stop texting me!_ His finger hovered over the block button.

**Sara♥Crispino: But I guess it’s easier and cheaper for us as we’re based in Europe anyway. Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It must be hard.**

_Hey, I’m not a charity case!_

**Seung-gil: My dog isn’t well**

It had worked for Victor, after all.

**Sara♥Crispino: Oh, noooo, that’s sad. Is he going to be okay?**

_Dammit, bad move, she’ll want updates._

**Seung-gil: I’m taking him to the vet now. Bye.**

Just then, his remarkably healthy-looking Siberian husky, Haru, entered the room, circled the floor in front of fire and flopped down.

**Sara♥Crispino: Vet at this time of night?**

He ignored the question, and the next set of messages from her sending hugs to the dog and wishing him a speedy recovery.

“Haru,” he muttered, uncurling from the sofa. “You’re going to have to take a break from social media for a while. We’re lying low.”

Eyes closed, Haru twitched a little and thumped his tail on the floor.

He’d expected a deluge of messages on his Instagram after that, or his notifs to increase on twitter because one of the only things the skating fandom knew about Seung-gil Lee was that he had a dog. Unable to find out much else, great troughs of meta on tumblr had been assigned to working out what the significance of having a husky was, and even what his name meant, and what that said about his owner.

_‘Haru means One Day’ –_ one post had concluded – ‘ _but is this Seung-gil looking forward to the point where he achieves his goal, or is it reflective as he looks back to where it started? Resolve or regrets?’_

_I liked the way Haru sounded,_ he thought idly, remembering the essay, and then with a petulant breath, he reached again for his phone, waiting ...

He’d misjudged Sara. She’d said nothing on social media, and it wasn’t that she’d not been absent, either, but had turned to her twitter page to wish all the competitors luck and then updated her Instagram with stories of her own progress and hopes for her Grand Prix.

Grand Prix. It still cut into him like an ice tipped knife that he’d failed to qualify. It wasn’t that he’d just missed out either but had been outclassed, and by two guys older than him, and now younger lions were roaring up to overtake. The first to land a quad loop in competition, the skater who had the world waiting for him to lace up his boots and cut the ice with his blades.

But he’d failed and in ice skating as in life, failure was a dirty word.

 

**PHICHIT ☼: Hey!**

_What now? I’m ‘at the vet’ Surely you know I can’t answer ... Oh, it’s you._

The story of how _h_ e _’d_ got onto Seung-gil’s contacts list was a far more mundane affair. Phichit was up and coming. Phichit was friendly with everyone and had a generous smile. In a word, Phichit was useful, and Seung-gil had no compunction in using him if necessary. (He’d also understand why Seung-gil had felt the need to lie, but such was his inability to not chatter, Seung-gil typed back cautiously.)

**Seung-gil: Hello**   

**PHICHIT ☼: Sara says Haru’s ill. Hope he gets better soon.**

Great! The skater grapevine was up and running (or should that be gliding?) nothing secret at all amongst that set.

_I can make use of that. Phichit’ll tell the rest, then maybe they’ll stop pestering me.._

**Seung-gil: I’m at the vets. He’ll be okay. It’s something and nothing.**

**PHICHIT ☼: Did he overeat like Makkachin?**

Haru overeat?  No chance.  His food intake was controlled, dietary needs assessed and properly weighed out as instructed by the breeder.

**Seung-gil: He hurt his paw.**

**PHICHIT ☼: Oh poor boy. How?**

Shit. How ... how did dogs hurt their paws? Especially as Seung-gil was punctilious about Haru’s hygiene and his routine. There was no chance he’d get into a fight, or tread on broken glass in the road or park ... they walked in the park. Park’s had flowers and bushes ...

**Seung-gil: Thorn. It got infected. Still is.**

**PHICHIT ☼: Like Androcles!**

**Seung-gil: What?**

**PHICHIT ☼: Well, no, not really. It was a lion and Androcles removed a thorn from its paw then years later Androcles was in an arena about to be eaten by lions but the Lion recognised him and gave him a big lick instead and -**

Shaking his head, Seung-gil’s focus drifted as Phichit gave him the entire plot of some Ancient Roman story, then proceeded to tell him a fable about a mouse getting a thorn out of a paw, or maybe it was a mouse gnawing at a net to free a lion. And Phichit clearly didn’t expect any response because he typed away, then sent a stream of photographs. From Suvarnabhumi airport, then on the plane, and now El Prat, his face beamed out of every picture.

Did this guy ever get jet lag?

**PHICHIT ☼: I landed an hour ago, but I’m alone. Victor says Yuuri’s asleep. Hope he wakes up so we can explore and catch up.**

_Right, I’ve told him I’m at the vet, so I don’t really need to answer. Oh no, more photos!_

**PHICHIT ☼: Which one shall I use on Instagram?**

**Seung-gil: I don’t know _._**

**PHICHIT ☼: I’ll have to buy a new selfie stick as my old one got bent on the plane.**

**Seung-gil: Unfortunate.**

**PHICHIT ☼: Yes it was. Maybe that one outside the airport. Or I could find the Sagrada ? What do you think?**

_I don’t give a fuck._

**Seung-gil:  I have to go.**

**PHICHIT ☼: Ok. Good luck and give Haru a big kiss from me!**

Why would you give a dog you didn’t know a kiss?

Five minutes later, the phone trilled again

**PHICHIT ☼: Seung-gil**

He groaned, causing Haru to look up.

**Seung-gil: yes**

**PHICHIT ☼: That was really tactless of me going on about Barcelona. Would have been good if you’d been here, too. Competing, I mean. And we could have gone sightseeing together.**

And in spite of his irritation, Seung-gil was touched.

**Seung-gil: You deserved your place after China. Good luck.**

Haru yawned and stretched out across the rug, flexing his legs. Opening his eyes, he stood and padded across to the sofa, staring up at Seung-gil.

“No, you’re not getting on the sofa, no matter how you stare up at me, you daft dog.”

It was eleven o’clock, he was tired, so he pointed to the corner, ordered Haru to his basket, then slunk off to bed.

He enjoyed a deep and dreamless sleep, waking when a shaft of pale winter sunshine pierced through a slat in his blind to strike his face. It wasn’t his habit to laze in bed, so he got up, pulled on a dressing gown, then whistled for Haru.

His phone was still on the table, and he chided himself because it was unlike him to not charge it overnight. It wasn’t dead though, and even as he walked over to it, another message flashed.

**Sara♥Crispino: How’s Haru today?**

He flicked up the screen, seeing this wasn’t one, but a series of messages, not just from Sara or Phichit, but Emil Nekola and Mila Babicheva.

Of course, he’d agreed to Mila’s suggestion to add her because she was so caught up with the Russian contingent, and often let slip certain pearls regarding training or her rinkmates. (Georgi heartbroken after Anna dumped him was hardly news, but Mila saying he was going on a date was useful. Georgi not lovelorn was altogether a different skater, much lighter, not as dramatic, and far _less_ of a threat.)  Their times as juniors had coincided, and back then, he’d been far more willing to take a risk, to add a name, to find the possibility of a friend.

Emil was a mistake. Far too friendly both on line and in person, he never took rebuffs personally. Seung-gil avoided him as much as possible, mainly because Emil hounded him for hugs after Yuuri had broken through everyone’s reserve.

***Emil*:Hope your dog is okay.** **L**

_So you can hug him?_

 Then Haru, clearly annoyed at being ignored, pushed his food bowl across the floor with his nose.

“Yes, I’m coming,” Seung-gil muttered. He reached for the packet on the shelf (not on the floor as he knew _not_ to keep anything in Haru’s reach) used the special measuring scoop, and dished out the nutritionally sound dried dog food.

The phone beeped again - Phichit caps lock messaging. _What now?_

It would be midnight in Barcelona. Did these guys ever sleep? But he guessed he should reply, at least tell them Haru was fine now.

**PHICHIT ☼: THEY’RE ENGAGED!!!!!!**

**Seung-gil: Who?**

He barely dared to hope it was Sara and Emil, so both would leave him alone.

**PHICHIT ☼: YUURI AND VICTOR!!!!**

**Seung-gil: WHAT??**

Phichit must be drunk. Or maybe this was delayed jetlag. Had he bashed his head on the ice during practise?

**PHICHIT ☼: LOOK!**

And then another picture, or rather several, of Victor and Yuuri their hands displaying gold bands and beaming at the camera. (Well, Victor was beaming, Yuuri’s smile was more dazed and bemused.)

He texted before he could stop himself, scorn pouring out of him.

**Seung-gil: Publicity stunt**

**PHICHIT ☼: No NO!  Why would they do that?**

**Seung-gil: For publicity?**

Seung-gil rolled his eyes, then stopped because only Haru was there and the effect was wasted on him.

Phichit didn’t reply – not even with another picture, and as Haru munched on his food, Seung-gil stared at his phone and something twanged inside his stomach. It took a lot to piss off Phichit, and yet Seung-gil seemed to have managed it.

**Seung-gil: Sorry. They look happy**.

Phichit’s messages carried on, a babbling nonsensical set of texts and more pictures.

**PHICHIT ☼: Then JJ and Isabella walked in and he said he’d marry her when he won gold.**

_Typical J-J. That will be for publicity. No one could seriously love that jerk. And he can’t love anyone more than he loves himself._

But he held his tongue, or rather his texting finger.

**PHICHIT ☼: We left after that. Oh, and Otabek Altin is a really nice guy.**

_He’s a surly bastard._ Seung-gil smirked as he studied the brooding Kazakh skater. _Love to see Emil try to hug him._

**PHICHIT ☼: Anyway, sorry, I was so excited about tonight, I forgot to ask about Haru. How is his paw?**

Glancing again at the picture of Victor and Yuuri, remembering Victor’s flight back from Russia to Japan, and the agonies both had gone through, Seung-gil sank to the floor and wrapped his arms around Haru.

“You’re a good boy,” he whispered, scratching behind his ears.

Haru licked his hand, then rested his head on Seung-gil’s knee, staring up at him.

**Seung-gil: Haru is absolutely fine.**

**PHICHIT ☼: That’s great news!** he replied, following up with several smiley faces and a stream of dog emojis.

**Seung-gil: Tell everyone, will you? And good luck again.**

The messages tailed off after that, but then he supposed even Phichit had to sleep, although he continued to post a plethora of pictures from Barcelona, his smiling face in the corner of most of them.

Katsuki Yuuri stared out of the screen. Victor was by his side, his face in profile, so Seung-gil stared back at Yuuri and wondered about him. Not the relationship, there’d been hints rolling around the circuit for a year that there was something going on between the pair of them. Seung-gil had never actively enquired, but wisps of gossip had reached his ears about a proposition at last year’s banquet and Katsuki draping his half naked body over Nikiforov’s.  Intriguing though that was, and it certainly appeared to have rejuvenated Katsuki’s skating, it was the skater himself that now interested Seung-gil.

_I underestimated you_.

He had Victor as a contact. And had felt a delicious thrill on first making his acquaintance, sure it was because he’d been tipped as a serious opponent. But then he realised it had nothing to do with his ability, for everyone had Victor. Not that it did him any good as Victor’s favour was as capricious as trying to land a quad triple combination in competition.

But Seung-gil hadn’t bothered with Yuuri. More galling, Yuuri hadn’t bothered with him. He still hadn’t, despite that embarrassing hug and the tears Yuuri had shed when he’d qualified. His own tears - the ones he’d stoppered after the devastation of losing - had broken through the dam and spilled again when Katsuki held him close.

_Dumbass,_ he chided himself. _He hugged everyone._

 

Christophe Giacometti was on the edge of the photo, a smile on his face, but was there something else? Seung-gil stared closer, pressing his fingers to his phone screen and widening the image. Christophe’s face blurred as the pixels enlarged, so perhaps he was imagining the wistfulness. Nikiforov and Giacometti, as close as competitors could be. And it wasn’t that he’d envied them that closeness, he didn’t want either of them to view him that way, but maybe ... maybe ... maybe it was good to have someone to kick up your heels with. Or pose in swimming pools in their case.

It was Christophe who’d insisted they swapped numbers. They’d chatted (or rather Chris had chatted and Seung-gil had listened) after a contest. Not in the immediate aftermath, but at one of the events post-medal ceremony. Seung-gil had scrutinised Chris, wondering what it took to be relaxed, to not give a damn about being forever the runner-up. And despite the off-putting way Chris had of touching him on the arm, and giving him a sly wink, he’d acquiesced to the contacts exchange because Giacometti was so close to being where Seung-gil wanted to be. It turned out he was better at messaging than Victor, too. His messages were erratic though, and generally of the group sort. Pictures at a contest, or a holiday where he’d pose on the beach with a ‘Wish you were here!’ caption.

Seung-gil didn’t ‘wish to be there’. He didn’t want to be posing in speedos with an umbrella accessorised cocktail glass, winking at a camera lens. Christophe exuded sex in every snap, translating it onto the ice with alacrity. It was something Seung-gil realised he needed to ramp up in his own routines. But not like that. Never like that. Christophe was white hot and laughing, a teasing temptress who’d always give in. But Seung-gil had cultivated an ice persona, seductive, sensual, unavailable.

**xxChrisxx:  Mon cher Phichit tells me your puppy is poorly.**

_Huh?Is he telepathic? And, wow, not a group message._ His thumb felt unaccountably slippy.

**Seung-gil: He’s fine.**

_I can’t just leave it there! Make a connection!_

**Seung-gil: Have you added more quads in your free skate?**

**xxChrisxx:  Wait and see, mon ami.  Say ciao to the chow.**

A joke? Okay, I can do that.

**Seung-gil: Husky, actually, but thank you. Look forward to your SP.**

**xxChrisxx: Merci**

Waiting. Again. For his chance, not just on the ice, but to perform with the best. Another pang that he wasn’t there. Maybe he should have boarded a plane.  Experienced the atmosphere of a Grand Prix at the very least, and maybe he could have bourn the waiting.

Haru pawed at the front door, a small whine in his voice.  Slipping his phone into his back pocket, Seung-gil picked up the lead and his apartment keys and together they left. It would be interesting to see what Christophe could muster. Seung-gil had no doubt the crown was heading Canada’s way. Momentum counted not for everything but for a lot, and was there really anything that could dent J-J’s confidence? Katsuki might have been on a revival, and the Russian Fairy was getting all the attention, but it was fleeting... surely.

Forty-five minutes. Throw Haru a ball rather than letting him pick up sticks, let him run around the park, jog along  with the fitbit on his wrist counting steps and heart rate. Then homeward bound to return Haru to his basket, before he headed to the rink for practise.

 

He skated out his frustrations, worked himself into an agreeable sweat and performed quad loop after quad loop, delighting his coach and the younger Korean skaters who were hanging over the barrier to watch.

 “Four Continents here we come!” Min So greeted him, her eyes glittering.

“Think I can beat Leroy?”

“Why not?” She clapped him on the shoulder, refusing to let him shake her off. “You know as well as I do that in skating anything can happen.”

He wanted to believe her, but scowling was his way, so after a brief nod, and a promise to take tomorrow off to rest, he left for home.  The Short Programme would be on. He’d sit and watch and try not to wish he were there. Look forward to the next competition, not back to the ones he could be no part of.

It was a done deal anyway, wasn’t it? The scrapping for minor places didn’t interest him.

***

 

_Fucking hell!_   Seung-gil was too shocked to do anything but blink at the screen. His lips twitched but whether he was about to grin out of pleasure or it was a ghastly rictus type of smile as he recognised J-Js calamitous fall from grace, he had no idea. And as much as he wanted it to be the latter, he strongly suspected it was the former.

So it was the Russian Fairy who led, smashing Victor’s record, enchanting the crowd, the judges and the world with an effortless routine of such beauty, Seung-gil could barely tear his eyes away.

_Could that have been me? Technically, perhaps, but the aesthetic is wrong. He is light and moonbeams. I’m the night sky, or the brooding storm clouds._

Plisetsky’s number wasn’t one he had. Giving advice to fifteen-year-old prodigies was not his style and he’d snorted at the idea of even asking.  If he’d known the roles would be reversed, would he have scratched around to find a connection?

And would it be too obvious if he sent him a message on Instagram? Deciding it was, Seung-gil abandoned that plan, merely liking one of Plisetsky’s photos and then covering it up by liking everything Phichit posted and one or two of Giacometti’s less racy shots.

He should sleep. Staying up to watch the Short Programme, when he could have so easily caught the highlights at a more reasonable time of day, had not been on his agenda, but he was restless now, twitchy. Haru was asleep in his basket, tongue hanging out and snuffling the air, dreaming about food probably, or the pigeons he liked to chase. He looked so content, Seung-gil didn’t have the heart to wake him for an impromptu early hours walk, so instead he searched around on his laptop, finally finding the women’s competition. There was absolutely no reason to watch this at all, except ...

Sara Crispino had a very graceful style – one that normally wouldn’t engage the crowd with its cool subtlety, but somehow she imbued it with passion, her long black hair loose as she flew across the ice.  She received rapturous applause, even if it wasn’t the best score of the night, and left the ice smiling.

And he wondered.

He wondered about popularity and whether that was why people continued to skate even when their chance had gone.

His eyelids drooped, he was yawning, and on a normal night, he’d have dragged himself to the bathroom, cleaned his teeth, splashed water on his face, pulled on pyjamas and then slipped into bed. But his limbs felt like lead and before he knew it, he was stretched on the sofa cuddling a cushion.

It was unlike Seung-gil to fall so soundly asleep in a place that was not _his_ bed. And yet he managed a good four hours on the sofa, waking curled and cramped with a crick in his neck and something wet on his hand.

“Hey,” he mumbled to Haru, who it was snuffling his fingers. “Go back to bed. It’s too early.”

Haru whined a little, but complied after a last lick, especially when he’d satisfied himself that his master wasn’t undergoing an odd transformation, and circled the cushion in his basket, before flopping down again. Trying to untangle to knots in his shoulders, Seung-gil sloped off to bed. Dawn was almost breaking, but he sank - Haru-like – into his bed, pulling up the quilt to his neck.

It wasn’t exactly unusual to have a day off, but it was uncommon enough for him to feel out of sync and restless when he finally awoke. His coach had said that not only was he to rest, but that the rink would be locked, so there was no option of sneaking in. There was public rink, but he was at that stage of being recognised by his face and not just his ability, and not always with admiration. Young children would want to skate with him, well-meaning adults would want to chat, girls begged for selfies, coaxing smiles (which he never gave) and wannabee skaters, jealous of the attention would flounce across the ice in front of him, leaping and spinning so close, it endangered not just themselves but his own career. Min So continually told him to engage with his fans, using Victor as an example or even Phichit, but the thought of small talk made him shudder, so he decided firmly against skating for the day.

His fingers lingered on his phone, wondering if anyone was up, or if they were all dead to the world. Three am in Barcelona and most would be desperate to sleep, if they could.  And he wondered... he wondered what he’d have been like in their shoes.

(Victor had had a surface charm, laughing and trilling beforehand, concentrating only that split second before his music began and the applause had hush. Giacometti had tried to emulate that, but played up to his crowd more. Crispino looked only to his sister, needing her there to hold his hand and quell the shakes before he took to the ice. Plisetski plugged himself into music, much as Seung-gil had done, although a large part of the motive for that was not to increase his focus, but to shut out the outside distractions. Distractions like Leroy, who was loud at the best of times, obnoxiously chirpy in the run up to his programmes.) 

_Would Leroy be asleep now?_

He blinked, wondering why that thought had occurred to him. Of course, he had J-J’s number. The Leroys had littered their contact details like confetti when JJ had started making it big, not closing off anyone in that world, intent on building bridges (or was that webs) to anyone who could help their boy. J-J had texted him once or twice, the first time to say ‘hi’ the second time to say he’d left Celestino. Neither time had Seung-gil replied because was it cynical of him to assume it wasn’t Seung-gil the Leroys were interested in at all, but his coach?

“So why the fuck would I want to contact you now?” he asked himself.  “I mean, it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that you’ve changed your number.”

_Because I’ve been there,_ another voice replied _. I’ve swaggered onto the ice, calculated every twist, spin and leap, and still fucked everything up._

_But I don’t know you. I don’t have a right to make contact._

A walk with Haru, hood up and scarf tight around his face. Lunch. A flick through the newspaper. Maybe he could start a book. (Chris read books – Seung-gil had seen him at odd moments engrossed between practices.)  Or catch up on the anime series Phichit kept banging on about on his twitter. But three episodes in and he was irritated with the protagonist and couldn’t see that waning.

So another walk, this time he jogged, keeping his pace consistent as Haru ran alongside, then speeding up ‘til he felt the burn in his calves.

Days off were dull. Even Haru sensed it, deviating off from their normal route to chase a bird across the park, snapping and barking at a flock settled on the ground, sending them scattering into the sky.

“HARU!” He stopped to call out, hands on hips. “HARU! GET BACK HERE!”

Hearing his voice, Haru paused mid-leap and twisted in the air, then ears pricked and tongue hanging out of his mouth he sprinted and lollopped back to his master. He looked so pleased with himself, so utterly alive and in the moment, that Seung-gil didn’t have the heart to scold. Another dog walker trundled past, with a rather elegant lurcher on a tight leash, both of whom shot the pair of them disapproving looks. Seung-gil snorted, then fetched the ball from his pocket, throwing it in a long arc (the Russian Fairy hovering in the air ...) then sent Haru off to find it.

Perhaps this was what he was supposed to do days off. Meander aimlessly, think of nothing, clear his mind of equations and point deductions, open his eyes to the greying skies, to the black silhouettes of trees framing the horizon, hear the squelch of mud under his feet, and smell the crisp air a foreshadow of snow, perhaps. He liked snow. It was more than it being a precursor to ice; he liked the way it erased the canvas. Taking a stride into the pillow-soft white, he would stake his claim to his future.  Decision made, he pulled out his phone.

Good Luck, he typed.

Haru whinnied, dropping the ball at his feet. Seung-gil smiled down at him, crouched to pick up the ball and ruffled his fur.   He threw the ball in the opposite direction and whistled for Haru to fetch.  

 “Come on, let’s head home.”

***

It was only when the competitors were warming up that he hit send.  Then he sat on the sofa, hugging his knees to his chest as he waited.

Leroy was due first on the ice. He skated on to massive applause, not at all muted, and a fan running along a row of seats in the stadium, holding aloft a giant Canadian flag. Seung-gil tried to imagine a South Korean flag of that size and he thought again about popularity. To the Canadians, Leroy was a religion, Seung-gil Lee was more of a cult and his flag would be hand sized, if that. He smiled, quite liking the analogy. Popularity meant extra pressure, having a fraction of fans ensured he could keep his head clear to calculate, not having to worry about pleasing them.

Drawing his brows together, Seung-gil waited for the music to start, and still he wondered what he wanted to see from this skater.

His phone tringed. He cursed, immediately switching it to silent, but not before he noticed.

**Sara♥Crispino: It’s JJ now. I can barely watch!!!!!**

“Go away!” Seung-gil howled and threw the phone across the sofa. It skittered to the floor, startling Haru, who was chewing a toy.

‘Squeak’

Leroy centred himself, but his trademark smile looked far from set. The crowd increased their support, but all the same as the music started, they hushed quickly, nerves settling in for everyone, for nothing must put off their favourite. A preposterous idea for nothing had upset him before, but tonight JJ Leroy was skating not for glory but to vanquish despair.

A despair Seung-gil recognised.

‘Squeak!’

Seung-gil clicked his fingers, leaning forwards. “Haru, stop that.”

He stopped chewing, but stared up reproachfully.

“Come on, then!” Seung-gil patted his lap.

When JJ began his skate, Haru clambered on the sofa. Seung-gil, almost unconsciously, began to rub the dog behind his ears, his eyes narrowing as he focused on analysing Leroy’s skate.

And as he watched, as JJ started the slow ascension back to brilliance, his smile widening, brows unfurrowing, teeth glinting as the applause deafened the stadium, Seung-gil stopped scrutinising, instead he lived the dance.

_You did it._

His heart flipped with each leap. His breath stopped with each landing. And by the end, as JJ finished his last spin, Seung-gil’s mind was devoid of statistics, full to bursting with pictures, his ears still listening to the music and the chimes of the audience still screaming their approval.

Short of Plisetsky crashing and burning, of Altin seceding, and Giacometti crashing, there was no way he’d garner gold, but he’d grabbed back his credibility, and now the pressure was on everyone else.

It was the true meaning of ‘J-J style’ – not giving in to the inevitable.

**Sara♥Crispino: SO EXCITING!  THE ATMOSPHERE IS INCREDIBLE.**

**♦Mila~Babicheva ♦: JJ IS SO COOL!**

**Sara♥Crispino: We’re waiting for Phichit now. Emil says hi. His phone’s out of charge.**

Good. No doubt he’d hugged it to death.

**Sara♥Crispino: And there’s this rumour that Yuuri’s retiring!**

Cold sank into him, ice clawing at his insides.

**Seung-gil: Is this true?**

**Sara♥Crispino: I got it from Emil, who got it from Chris, so who knows?**

But he’s not won anything? And ...

Another message, but not Sara and she clearly knew very little, so what was the point in questioning and getting more half tales and supposition?

**♦Mila~Babicheva ♦: Obviously I’m supporting Yuri, but Phichit is so much fun to watch. Like you, actually.**

_WHAT????  How are we in any way the same? Jeez, maybe if I don’t answer they’ll assume I’m sleeping._ He debated a reply, but before he could think of a suitable way of telling them both to stop, yet another message came through.

**Crispino M: WHAT GIVES BETWEEN YOU AND MY SISTER? WHY’S SHE TEXTING YOU?**

_Seriously?In the middle of the final, you’re concerned about that!_  For a moment he was tempted to snap back something salacious, purely to wind him up, but the very thought made him wince.

_Michele_ Crispino – adding him was an error of monumental proportions. The guy never talked about skating, only his sister, or else other skaters – all men – and how he was sure they were all after Sara. And since Moscow, he’d been convinced Seung-gil was after her. It hadn’t helped that Sara kept wishing him luck, kept texting him, and commented on his rare Instagram pics, but then she’d said nothing really that could be construed as remotely romantic.

**Crispino M: TELL ME YOU BASTARD!**

_Oh, just fuck off! Only a dumbass would be worried about something so dumb at a time like this._

Blocked.

Haru licked his hand, Seung-gil stretched out his legs, careful not to dislodge him, and snuggled back to watch Phichit.

***

There was an inevitability about it, he thought when the whole competition was over. A sense that the stories had already been written at the beginning of the season. Yuri Plisetsky gaining the crown, a glimpse of fairy gold glimmering at the top of the podium.

**Sara♥Crispino: Can’t believe it. Such a good night! Mila’s in tears.**

Katsuki a sparkling silver, and a world record. And if he looked disappointed that he hadn’t hung on for gold, it didn’t show; his smile bright, tears gleaming in his eyes, his focus not on the presenter, or the crowd or even his medal but someone standing rinkside.

Is this your apex? Is this why you want to go?

**♦Mila~Babicheva ♦: I’m so happy for Viktor, too.**

**Seung-gil: Is it true Katsuki’s retiring?**

**♦Mila~Babicheva ♦: Ah, we don’t know. No announcement yet. Hope not** **:/**

And there was J-J, rueful but relieved. A king again, but one made of bronze. He’d clawed back, and if there was an air of unreality about it, myth and reality combining, tonight was clearly the night for history.

I want to compete against them. _All_ of them. And win.

He was about to go to bed, when his phone flashed again.

**!!KING!! JJ: Thank you for your good wishes. I’ve only just seen, but it means a lot.**

Seung-gil blinked. Was that humility from Leroy?

**!!KING!! JJ: A lot of people had written me off after the SP.**

**Seung-gil: Tigers are at their most dangerous when cornered.**

**!!KING!! JJ: You think I’m a tiger?  Interestingggggg**

_Oh dear. He’ll work that into a routine now. Plisetsky won’t be at all pleased. What have I let myself in for?_

**Seung-gil: Looking forward to the 4CC, Leroy.**

**!!KING!! JJ: Lookin’ forward to it -  J-J STYLE! Or ... maybe LeROAR!**

_Oh, no, stop with the jokes_.

He smiled, stroked Haru again, and instead of leaving his phone to charge, he took it to bed with him, reading and rereading  every message. And then, just as his eyelids were drooping, when even Sara appeared to have stopped messaging, he flipped to Instagram.

There was a photograph, blurred as if the photographers hand was shaking, one face beaming with an almost iridescent happiness and he wondered how anyone could be so happy. He pondered the transient nature of medals, achievement and that fleeting moment of victory before it sank in that the competition was over and they had to move onto the next one.

**Seung-gil:** **Victor, please pass on my congratulations to Katsuki and accept mine for you. Well done.**

There was no reply. Possibly he’d left it too late, or maybe Viktor had no need to reply or his message had been lost in a tidal wave of congratulations.  Perhaps if he’d bothered before, or taken Yuuri’s number, then this distance, not just based on seas and kilometres, would not have widened. Maybe he should have clung on harder when Katsuki had hugged him.

He slept, dreamless again, waking only when Haru scratched on his bedroom door, worrying to be let out.

And there it was.

**Number Unknown: Thank you for the message.  Victor says thank you, and also wants me to say ‘See you at the Four Continents Cup!!’**

 Add contact.  Katsuki Yuuri.

**Seung-gil:  You’re not retiring then?**   He exhaled before finishing his message. **The rumour mill was working overtime.**

**♪Katsuki Y ♪: Not yet. Think things are just beginning.**

He managed two words before the confirmation sucked air into his lungs, but sent anyway, because what else could he say.

**Seung-gil:  I’m glad.**


End file.
